You're standing at the corner of "Walk-Don't-Walk," about to cross the street, and you're thinking about your old friend, Doris, you know, the one you haven't seen in 4 months because both your schedules are jacked up crazy.... and then your phone lights up.
Dun dun dun.....it's Doris.
"Doris, get out of my head. I was just thinking about you," you marvel.
That kind of scene happens a lot, doesn't it.
I mean, A LOT.
And that's only one example. What about when you awaken from a dream about your ex from 5 years ago and then later that day, you get an email from said ex?
Or how about when you pick up the phone to call your Aunt Fran and then some weird connection thing happens and you don't even hear the phone dial or ring because Aunt Fran HAS JUST CALLED YOU at the very same time, and she is miraculously on the other end?
Or how about when you receive a text message exactly at the moment you're about to send a message to the very person who has just texted you?
It happens all the time. ALL the time.
But these are all of the instances we KNOW about.
What about all of the instances we do NOT know about?
Let us consider, for a moment, all those times when communication is not attempted at all, but rather, two people are simply thinking of each other at the same time.
There is something magical in this.
Two people, any given distance apart--either a few feet away, or two doors down, or a city apart, or a country apart...two people considering and thinking about each other at the very same time...It must happen every minute, every second of the day....
But what is actually happening in this silent connection?
Of course, it is always interesting and exciting when the examples of proverbial yet atypical communication occur-- like when you go to call Fran and Fran has just called you---but rather, the more thrilling contemplation is 'what is actually happening in the Universe when neither party knows the connection is occurring at all?'
It is a shadowy connection. One we can't necessarily see, but one we have the potential to feel...
A shadowconnection of sorts.
Imagine these two people all of a sudden linked together in a superhighwaynexus kind of way. Minds unleash, portals appear, souls are connected, and for a moment or two, possibilities become endless.... The magic is that neither party is aware it is happening...it is unspoken and beautiful and compelling. It is a connection far greater than words or communication.
It is a mysterious and soundless union.
What is possible in this moment? Are we capable of unveiling the secrets of the world, do we have the power to read minds and to time-travel? Can we join each other and have telepathic conversations? In this intangible and uncharted connection, are we as connected to each other as spiritually and emotionally as humanly possible?
This brief flicker of time has the potential to be incomprehensibly powerful....unsystematically brilliant...and what is so astounding is that we may never even recognize it is happening. It may very well be a hidden life secret---a secret that mysteriously and silently brings us closer together....much like an unwritten symphony that we can still hear; a song without words that we somehow know all the words to; an unpenned poem that we can recite without fail....
And each moment of unspoken shadowconnection creates a bridge, a path, a tightrope of light extending from one person to the other in which anything is possible....
Perhaps none of this is true.
Perhaps all of it is true.
Perhaps this is just imagination gone wild, mystical ideas and pretty speculation.
But just suppose for a moment....build castles in the air.... and flirt with the possibilities....
How fascinating it is to consider who may be thinking of you at this very moment, how many portal connections occur throughout your day---throughout your lifetime---and just how many people you are silently and beautifully and more strongly connected to just through the power of thought.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Perception and the Tale of the F#%*ing Fat B*tch
It was getting colder outside and people were in a rush, making mad dashes from one side of the street to the other, bobbing and weaving in and out of traffic, shifting and sliding in and out of pedestrians' paths...
I was on my way back to work and I moved expertly along the sidewalk against the tide of business men and women fast-walking in the other direction. I found myself passing a Walgreens, and it was in this very spot right in front of the revolving door that I witnessed a rather curious incident, one that left me amused, sad, and intrigued all at once.
A stout woman and a hurried man collided---bumped into each other, rather, as many people tend to do during early morning rushes. He was leaving Walgreens and she was just about to enter the revolving door.
Their shoulders brushed with slight force, nothing violent or out of the ordinary for a morning streetside jostle before work. These things happen and you get used to it living in a city. People bump into each other. You may not always be pleased about it, but from my perspective, it didn't appear to be either party's fault. One could have said the man knocked into the woman just as easily as one could have said the woman knocked into the man.
The middle-aged man wearing a ballcap, and looking very angry at the world, scowled and glared at the woman as she walked on. He clearly perceived that the woman had knocked into him. And he was pissed about it.
"F#%*ing fat b*tch," he cried out venemously. His disdain was as clear as it could possibly be. He turned on his heels and continued on his commute.
But the woman would never know what he had said. She was already halfway through the revolving door to Walgreens by the time he'd insulted her. She plodded along, unaware that this man had been so enraged that he'd not only very publicly slighted her for bumping into him, but he'd also vociferously ridiculed her weight. She was oblivious.
I stopped in my tracks, the sea of pedestrians swimming around me now. I was a bit in shock from overhearing the angry-at-life man speak in such a manner to this woman who, for all intents and purposes, didn't appear to know what had just happened.
The man was in the distance now, walking eastwards, and I wondered why he had become so angry at this woman. What was it that was truly upsetting this man? Was he just upset at life in general? Had he just had a fight with his wife? Did he just get fired? Did his son just fail algebra? Did his daughter just tell him she was having an illigitmate baby with the captain of the footbal team? I deeply wondered where his anger came from. Because, after considering it for a bit, I perceived his anger to be more about himself. It just was directed at the woman because she created an outlet. He now had someplace for his anger to go.
But his true story I never learned.
Rather, I learned the woman's story.
Curiosity got the better of me and I decided to follow the woman inside Walgreens. I suppose I wanted to see for myself if this woman really was a) fat, and b) a f#%*ing b*tch.
I kept about 6 steps behind her the whole time. I felt like a spy. And she never saw me. I would glance away if she looked around, poking at books or vitamins or tape.
I needed the truth.
It was like reality television except I was the only one watching.
And this is when I put everything together.
She walked hurriedly and with purpose. The woman was definitely on a mission. I trailed her as she walked through the aisles until she reached her destination.
She stopped in front of a shelf, peered about for a few seconds, and picked up a bag of....
Ricola Throat Drops.
She was in the Cold and Allergy aisle.
My mind was spinning.
She moved on and dodged in and out of a few others aisles, not knowing exactly where her next purchase was located.
But then she found it. From the other end of the aisle, I saw her locate a pack of travel size Kleenex.
It all made sense now.
This poor woman was sick with a cold.
My world was rocked for a moment. Actually, it continues to be rocked.
It struck me that I was the only one who had seen both sides of this story. The man would never know what the woman's story was, and the woman would never even know that she had been yelled at. The woman was simply rushing, probably cold-headed and woozy, trying to pick up medicine before work. If she had bumped into the man, she probably didn't realize. And she certainly didn't know how angry she had made him. She would never know.
And the man? Well he would NEVER know...how could he possibly know...that this poor woman was neither fat nor was she a fucking bitch....she had a cold. She was buying medicine.
They were both oblivious to the other person's path and actions.
How curious and marvelous and sad, I mused.
Perception is truly amazing. The man saw the woman as rude and distressing, the woman saw the man as a mere bump on her way to the drugstore, and I saw the aftermath and the truth.
I left Walgreens somewhat excited and somewhat distubed that I was the only one who knew the story. I was the only one with the clear perception, the only viewer of this reality production.
And twisted and mundane as this tale might be to some, it was rather remarkable to me. Remarkable that I was the only audience member of the true story of the #$%ing fat b*tch.
I was on my way back to work and I moved expertly along the sidewalk against the tide of business men and women fast-walking in the other direction. I found myself passing a Walgreens, and it was in this very spot right in front of the revolving door that I witnessed a rather curious incident, one that left me amused, sad, and intrigued all at once.
A stout woman and a hurried man collided---bumped into each other, rather, as many people tend to do during early morning rushes. He was leaving Walgreens and she was just about to enter the revolving door.
Their shoulders brushed with slight force, nothing violent or out of the ordinary for a morning streetside jostle before work. These things happen and you get used to it living in a city. People bump into each other. You may not always be pleased about it, but from my perspective, it didn't appear to be either party's fault. One could have said the man knocked into the woman just as easily as one could have said the woman knocked into the man.
The middle-aged man wearing a ballcap, and looking very angry at the world, scowled and glared at the woman as she walked on. He clearly perceived that the woman had knocked into him. And he was pissed about it.
"F#%*ing fat b*tch," he cried out venemously. His disdain was as clear as it could possibly be. He turned on his heels and continued on his commute.
But the woman would never know what he had said. She was already halfway through the revolving door to Walgreens by the time he'd insulted her. She plodded along, unaware that this man had been so enraged that he'd not only very publicly slighted her for bumping into him, but he'd also vociferously ridiculed her weight. She was oblivious.
I stopped in my tracks, the sea of pedestrians swimming around me now. I was a bit in shock from overhearing the angry-at-life man speak in such a manner to this woman who, for all intents and purposes, didn't appear to know what had just happened.
The man was in the distance now, walking eastwards, and I wondered why he had become so angry at this woman. What was it that was truly upsetting this man? Was he just upset at life in general? Had he just had a fight with his wife? Did he just get fired? Did his son just fail algebra? Did his daughter just tell him she was having an illigitmate baby with the captain of the footbal team? I deeply wondered where his anger came from. Because, after considering it for a bit, I perceived his anger to be more about himself. It just was directed at the woman because she created an outlet. He now had someplace for his anger to go.
But his true story I never learned.
Rather, I learned the woman's story.
Curiosity got the better of me and I decided to follow the woman inside Walgreens. I suppose I wanted to see for myself if this woman really was a) fat, and b) a f#%*ing b*tch.
I kept about 6 steps behind her the whole time. I felt like a spy. And she never saw me. I would glance away if she looked around, poking at books or vitamins or tape.
I needed the truth.
It was like reality television except I was the only one watching.
And this is when I put everything together.
She walked hurriedly and with purpose. The woman was definitely on a mission. I trailed her as she walked through the aisles until she reached her destination.
She stopped in front of a shelf, peered about for a few seconds, and picked up a bag of....
Ricola Throat Drops.
She was in the Cold and Allergy aisle.
My mind was spinning.
She moved on and dodged in and out of a few others aisles, not knowing exactly where her next purchase was located.
But then she found it. From the other end of the aisle, I saw her locate a pack of travel size Kleenex.
It all made sense now.
This poor woman was sick with a cold.
My world was rocked for a moment. Actually, it continues to be rocked.
It struck me that I was the only one who had seen both sides of this story. The man would never know what the woman's story was, and the woman would never even know that she had been yelled at. The woman was simply rushing, probably cold-headed and woozy, trying to pick up medicine before work. If she had bumped into the man, she probably didn't realize. And she certainly didn't know how angry she had made him. She would never know.
And the man? Well he would NEVER know...how could he possibly know...that this poor woman was neither fat nor was she a fucking bitch....she had a cold. She was buying medicine.
They were both oblivious to the other person's path and actions.
How curious and marvelous and sad, I mused.
Perception is truly amazing. The man saw the woman as rude and distressing, the woman saw the man as a mere bump on her way to the drugstore, and I saw the aftermath and the truth.
I left Walgreens somewhat excited and somewhat distubed that I was the only one who knew the story. I was the only one with the clear perception, the only viewer of this reality production.
And twisted and mundane as this tale might be to some, it was rather remarkable to me. Remarkable that I was the only audience member of the true story of the #$%ing fat b*tch.
Monday, October 25, 2010
the beginning of a three parter
Well, gosh. Where have I been.
Honestly. August and September flew by. And here we are almost at the end of October. I haven't posted since July? Apparently I took a hiatus from the random thought.
I didn't mean to. I assure you it's not because I didn't have any random thoughts.
Rather, I had MANY. Astounding amounts of them.
And NO TIME.
A good thing? Of course.
Cherrywood came and went (a gift of a theatrical experience), a bikram yoga mission was completed, a move occurred, a new job has been had, and a new play rehearsed, opened, and will close this week.
Life has been beautifully full.
There are many things on my mind of course, some existential as always, some completely not. But rather than bombard all of these thoughts upon you at once, I will set up future posts as thus:
1. Perception: The tale of the fat f#%^ing bitch.
2. Mind connections and portals.
3. Gratitude and Reflection
Here I sit in my beautifully candlelit room, listening to i-tunes on shuffle. I am peaceful. And quietly content tonight.
Stay tuned.
K.xxxx
Honestly. August and September flew by. And here we are almost at the end of October. I haven't posted since July? Apparently I took a hiatus from the random thought.
I didn't mean to. I assure you it's not because I didn't have any random thoughts.
Rather, I had MANY. Astounding amounts of them.
And NO TIME.
A good thing? Of course.
Cherrywood came and went (a gift of a theatrical experience), a bikram yoga mission was completed, a move occurred, a new job has been had, and a new play rehearsed, opened, and will close this week.
Life has been beautifully full.
There are many things on my mind of course, some existential as always, some completely not. But rather than bombard all of these thoughts upon you at once, I will set up future posts as thus:
1. Perception: The tale of the fat f#%^ing bitch.
2. Mind connections and portals.
3. Gratitude and Reflection
Here I sit in my beautifully candlelit room, listening to i-tunes on shuffle. I am peaceful. And quietly content tonight.
Stay tuned.
K.xxxx
Sunday, July 18, 2010
a return to the true random thought.
1. This is completely inappropriate, but I feel somewhat at unease when I go to a Chinese or Thai or Japanese restaurant and my server is not Asian. It just doesn't feel right when a 14-year-old pasty white boy is serving me sushi.
2. I made a pact with sushi. For real. I said, "Sushi. Today is the day I put aside my thing with texture in my mouth and we make this thing work." Sushi owned up. I owned up. We made up. Then we cried. Baby steps. Baby steps.
3. I voiced disdain towards bathroom attendants this week. However, I am now undecided. I am not a fan of bathroom attendants whatsoever, they make me feel a bit uncomfortable, but let's face it: They have AWFUL jobs. They have to stand in a smelly bathroom while everyone outside is having fun. They have to stay there ALL night, help gross drunk girls, hand people paper towels, and they are all depending on our tips. I may not like them, but when you think about it, bathroom attendants are heroes. They deal with a lot of shit.
4. Chelsea Clinton is getting hitched in a few days. Good for her. With all of the world watching her during her awkward growing up phase, god bless the poor kid. And God Bless America, godammit.
5. The rivers of Dublin sing. And the mudslide shall live forever. Dublin Mudslide stands in its own category. Competitors like Mud Pie (God forbid, what IS that anyway?) and even fancy Gelato brands are bastard impostors.
6. Does anyone remember the movie "Hocus Pocus?" I do. I had an unexplainable urge to watch Hocus Pocus today. And have a fist-fight with Bette Midler. And put a spell on you.
7. My apple tasted suspiciously like a pear yesterday. I looked at it, thinking it was a pear for a moment, but it was an apple. Remain confused by this odd trick of nature.
8. Overheard on the street: "I don't have enough years left to learn how to play a good game of golf."
2. I made a pact with sushi. For real. I said, "Sushi. Today is the day I put aside my thing with texture in my mouth and we make this thing work." Sushi owned up. I owned up. We made up. Then we cried. Baby steps. Baby steps.
3. I voiced disdain towards bathroom attendants this week. However, I am now undecided. I am not a fan of bathroom attendants whatsoever, they make me feel a bit uncomfortable, but let's face it: They have AWFUL jobs. They have to stand in a smelly bathroom while everyone outside is having fun. They have to stay there ALL night, help gross drunk girls, hand people paper towels, and they are all depending on our tips. I may not like them, but when you think about it, bathroom attendants are heroes. They deal with a lot of shit.
4. Chelsea Clinton is getting hitched in a few days. Good for her. With all of the world watching her during her awkward growing up phase, god bless the poor kid. And God Bless America, godammit.
5. The rivers of Dublin sing. And the mudslide shall live forever. Dublin Mudslide stands in its own category. Competitors like Mud Pie (God forbid, what IS that anyway?) and even fancy Gelato brands are bastard impostors.
6. Does anyone remember the movie "Hocus Pocus?" I do. I had an unexplainable urge to watch Hocus Pocus today. And have a fist-fight with Bette Midler. And put a spell on you.
7. My apple tasted suspiciously like a pear yesterday. I looked at it, thinking it was a pear for a moment, but it was an apple. Remain confused by this odd trick of nature.
8. Overheard on the street: "I don't have enough years left to learn how to play a good game of golf."
Thursday, July 15, 2010
100 Fireflies
*Most names have been changed to protect the innocent*
I laced up my running shoes and stepped out of my old front door, leaving the house I had grown up in as a child. “This will be a long one,” I told my Mom on my way out. “Don’t worry if I’m gone an hour or so.”
The humidity was overwhelming. Sweat dripped down my brow and I wished I had worn a tank top and shorts instead of a t-shirt and leggings. I had no music. Just myself and the road and my thoughts. And around every bend, I found myself lost in a myriad of imagery and memories.
My feet hit the pavement and I ran along the creek down the street where I had spent many beautiful minutes throwing bread to ducks with my sister and brother and my Mom and Dad. I kept along Rock Creek, reminded of my childhood friend, Sally, who had once lived in the same subdivision. I jogged down the street, and as I passed her house, I saw her Dad outside talking to a neighbor. He looked the same as I remembered, though I hadn’t remembered what he looked like until I saw him standing there. I thought of how Sally was now married and living in Florida and how when we were in high school I had gone to senior prom in the same group as her, thoroughly overwhelmed to be in the ‘popular’ prom group. How long ago all of that seemed. Another world ago.
Every corner held a different memory. I passed Eldridge Lane and I remembered my childhood friend, Jane. She and I had been the best of friends from 3rd grade until about 6th grade. We’d had sleepovers when we were kids and I remembered her having a waterbed that was swooshy and her buying me the Paula Abdul tape cassette, Vibeology, as a birthday present back in the day. She'd had a Slip and Slide in her backyard and I recalled eating drumstick ice cream cones on her porch in the heat of summer. And then one day, all of a sudden, she decided not to sit with me in the middle school cafeteria at lunch. I marveled at the unexplained rejection and I held a grudge until we graduated high school. How silly, I thought to myself, as I passed her old house, that we allow ourselves to be so affected by childhood friends and foes. If only I was 11 again I just would have asked Jane why she didn’t want to sit with me at lunch anymore and we would have had a calm, unheated discussion about it. I have no idea where she lives now. But I know she is married. Her younger sister is married too, and somehow she is a mutual friend of an actor I just did a show with in Chicago. Our worlds are so small. I passed her house and silently wished Jane and her sister well, wherever they were.
Onwards, and I remembered Thalia and Mariah and Jackie and running around on the playground in elementary school. A memory of hand-clapping games and jump rope and making Barbie dolls kiss Ken dolls flashed through my mind. I passed another house and the vintage green car out front made me think of the boy to whom it belonged, a guy I’d once been friend’s with in high school. He and his brother had both been counselors with me at Super Summer Day Camp. I was the official Rocketry counselor, as well as the Lego counselor. My memories drifted to this gorgeous group-leader at Super Summer named Norm. I was 16 and awkward and had braces but I remember having the biggest crush on Norm. Then came that fateful day when the braces came off, and Norman, seeing my huge metal-free smile for the first time, asked me out. I was gleeful until I freaked myself out that Norman was actually a junior in college and a police officer already, and I felt so young and unsure, I ended up turning him down a few days later.
I kept running and I thought of how sometimes I would see this football linebacker, Damon, driving through the neighborhood in high school. I’d had a monster crush on him and I somehow got up the nerve to ask him to a Sadie Hawkins Dance my junior year. And he had said yes! We would talk on the phone in the weeks leading up to the dance, and I was always pleased to talk to him, except he always seemed to call me on Wednesdays when “Felicity” was being aired on the (now defunct) WB. This was the only show I ever watched, and though I was irritated I had to miss Felicity in order to talk to him, I still dieted for days in order to get into a tiny little black dress with slits up both sides. In the end, the football player had only wanted to be friends. I was disappointed but at least I had gone to the dance with a gorgeous linebacker who'd made me laugh.
I kept passing houses of people I’d once known and all of the memories hit me…. ice cream after class with Lindsey, and movies with a now fellow Chicago actress, Cate. I passed Julie’s house who had played Audrey with me in Little Shop of Horrors in high school, and I remembered Nikka and how I should call her up because I hadn’t seen her since her wedding a few years ago. I thought about beautiful Lia and being thoroughly sad I had missed her California wedding just a few weeks ago.
I thought, my goodness, SO many people are getting married.
I remembered the Cranbrook Swim Club and splashing water around with my sister. I remembered falling off my bike and cutting my lip during a block party when my brother and I had been racing our bikes very irresponsibly. I passed my friend Adam’s house, remembering playing basketball with him one random day when I’d bumped into him on a run much like this one and how he’d always made me smile, even when he was making fun of me. I passed Alicia’s house that used to have the “Beware of the Dog” sign on the lawn, and I passed Serina’s house, reminded of talking to her broadcaster Aunt intensely one day because I was convinced I wanted to be a broadcaster.
And then came the fireflies.
I was about 30 minutes into the run, inundated by imagery and heat, my mind swirling, unsure if I could run much longer.
And then I saw a firefly. Out of the corner of my eye.
I was ready for the memories to stop, but a new string of firefly memories hit me in the face. I joyfully recalled my British friend, Riley, being over the moon that she had seen her first firefly EVER. She had never seen one in Britain before. We were 19 and summer camp counselors in Cheboygan, MI, making a midnight trek to the campsite a mile away where the counselors would go to drink and have bonfires and make out in the woods. Her face had lit up like magic and I'd felt honored to be there for her first firefly. That made me think of Ben, who I’d also met at camp. He was British and beautiful and I was crazy surprised he was beguiled by ME. He broke my heart years later. My mind kept spinning and I remembered meeting a cousin for the first time in Youngstown, OH and being petrified that this little girl would catch fireflies in a jar and then violently tear off the glowing torsos of their bodies.
So many thoughts, too many thoughts, all unbridled and restless, all of them coming to me quickly and suddenly, some of them welcome, some unwelcome. The fireflies kept lighting up.
And it wasn’t just one firefly, but an infinite amount of fireflies.
I thought to myself, I’ll count up to 15 for fun and then I’ll head home, but the fireflies kept lighting up all around me. I made it to 31 just for kicks because I was born on the 31st, and then up to 50 and then 75 all within a matter of 10 minutes or so. The fireflies wouldn’t stop. But they did slow down. Sometimes the light storm would cease and I would think the game was over, but then, no WAIT, there they would go again!
I decided to keep going. Why not keep going until I had counted ONE HUNDRED FIREFLIES.
I would see these brilliant flashes of light in front of me and to the sides, my peripheral vision going off like firecrackers, my whole mind and breath acutely aware of my surroundings. For these few moments I felt as though I had never been this aware of my environment in all my life. My vision and my heart and my mind and all of my senses pushing towards this one trivial, albeit magical goal. And in this quest, as my feet hit the pavement, I somehow found a type of much needed peace and well-being.
98…
I saw a bunny hop across someone’s front lawn. My stomach knotted up in amazing anticipation, as I knew I was about to hit 100 fireflies.
A minute or two passed. The fireflies seemed to stop, the night sky barren of glowing light… And then, much like popcorn kernels reaching their threshold as they heat up during their last seconds on a stovetop, popping in a glorious finish…
99…
100!
On the 100th firefly, I saw a man walking a dog across the street and I decided to wave at him. A friendly moment commemorating 100. He did not know who I was. I did not know who he was. He waved back anyway.
I had lost all track of time and location. And when I finally stopped counting around 108, I realized I had no idea where I was, somehow lost in the maze of roads and twists in my old subdivision, unable to navigate which way was north or south or east or west, just using landmarks to get myself back home.
The web of memories had all stopped while I counted the fireflies, my mind had quieted, and I felt a sense of calm as I walked back to my childhood house.
I opened my front door and found my father watching TV in the den.
“We were beginning to worry,” he told me.
“I know, I got lost,” I replied, sitting down besides him on the couch.
“But I’m home now,” I breathed. “I’m home now.”
I laced up my running shoes and stepped out of my old front door, leaving the house I had grown up in as a child. “This will be a long one,” I told my Mom on my way out. “Don’t worry if I’m gone an hour or so.”
The humidity was overwhelming. Sweat dripped down my brow and I wished I had worn a tank top and shorts instead of a t-shirt and leggings. I had no music. Just myself and the road and my thoughts. And around every bend, I found myself lost in a myriad of imagery and memories.
My feet hit the pavement and I ran along the creek down the street where I had spent many beautiful minutes throwing bread to ducks with my sister and brother and my Mom and Dad. I kept along Rock Creek, reminded of my childhood friend, Sally, who had once lived in the same subdivision. I jogged down the street, and as I passed her house, I saw her Dad outside talking to a neighbor. He looked the same as I remembered, though I hadn’t remembered what he looked like until I saw him standing there. I thought of how Sally was now married and living in Florida and how when we were in high school I had gone to senior prom in the same group as her, thoroughly overwhelmed to be in the ‘popular’ prom group. How long ago all of that seemed. Another world ago.
Every corner held a different memory. I passed Eldridge Lane and I remembered my childhood friend, Jane. She and I had been the best of friends from 3rd grade until about 6th grade. We’d had sleepovers when we were kids and I remembered her having a waterbed that was swooshy and her buying me the Paula Abdul tape cassette, Vibeology, as a birthday present back in the day. She'd had a Slip and Slide in her backyard and I recalled eating drumstick ice cream cones on her porch in the heat of summer. And then one day, all of a sudden, she decided not to sit with me in the middle school cafeteria at lunch. I marveled at the unexplained rejection and I held a grudge until we graduated high school. How silly, I thought to myself, as I passed her old house, that we allow ourselves to be so affected by childhood friends and foes. If only I was 11 again I just would have asked Jane why she didn’t want to sit with me at lunch anymore and we would have had a calm, unheated discussion about it. I have no idea where she lives now. But I know she is married. Her younger sister is married too, and somehow she is a mutual friend of an actor I just did a show with in Chicago. Our worlds are so small. I passed her house and silently wished Jane and her sister well, wherever they were.
Onwards, and I remembered Thalia and Mariah and Jackie and running around on the playground in elementary school. A memory of hand-clapping games and jump rope and making Barbie dolls kiss Ken dolls flashed through my mind. I passed another house and the vintage green car out front made me think of the boy to whom it belonged, a guy I’d once been friend’s with in high school. He and his brother had both been counselors with me at Super Summer Day Camp. I was the official Rocketry counselor, as well as the Lego counselor. My memories drifted to this gorgeous group-leader at Super Summer named Norm. I was 16 and awkward and had braces but I remember having the biggest crush on Norm. Then came that fateful day when the braces came off, and Norman, seeing my huge metal-free smile for the first time, asked me out. I was gleeful until I freaked myself out that Norman was actually a junior in college and a police officer already, and I felt so young and unsure, I ended up turning him down a few days later.
I kept running and I thought of how sometimes I would see this football linebacker, Damon, driving through the neighborhood in high school. I’d had a monster crush on him and I somehow got up the nerve to ask him to a Sadie Hawkins Dance my junior year. And he had said yes! We would talk on the phone in the weeks leading up to the dance, and I was always pleased to talk to him, except he always seemed to call me on Wednesdays when “Felicity” was being aired on the (now defunct) WB. This was the only show I ever watched, and though I was irritated I had to miss Felicity in order to talk to him, I still dieted for days in order to get into a tiny little black dress with slits up both sides. In the end, the football player had only wanted to be friends. I was disappointed but at least I had gone to the dance with a gorgeous linebacker who'd made me laugh.
I kept passing houses of people I’d once known and all of the memories hit me…. ice cream after class with Lindsey, and movies with a now fellow Chicago actress, Cate. I passed Julie’s house who had played Audrey with me in Little Shop of Horrors in high school, and I remembered Nikka and how I should call her up because I hadn’t seen her since her wedding a few years ago. I thought about beautiful Lia and being thoroughly sad I had missed her California wedding just a few weeks ago.
I thought, my goodness, SO many people are getting married.
I remembered the Cranbrook Swim Club and splashing water around with my sister. I remembered falling off my bike and cutting my lip during a block party when my brother and I had been racing our bikes very irresponsibly. I passed my friend Adam’s house, remembering playing basketball with him one random day when I’d bumped into him on a run much like this one and how he’d always made me smile, even when he was making fun of me. I passed Alicia’s house that used to have the “Beware of the Dog” sign on the lawn, and I passed Serina’s house, reminded of talking to her broadcaster Aunt intensely one day because I was convinced I wanted to be a broadcaster.
And then came the fireflies.
I was about 30 minutes into the run, inundated by imagery and heat, my mind swirling, unsure if I could run much longer.
And then I saw a firefly. Out of the corner of my eye.
I was ready for the memories to stop, but a new string of firefly memories hit me in the face. I joyfully recalled my British friend, Riley, being over the moon that she had seen her first firefly EVER. She had never seen one in Britain before. We were 19 and summer camp counselors in Cheboygan, MI, making a midnight trek to the campsite a mile away where the counselors would go to drink and have bonfires and make out in the woods. Her face had lit up like magic and I'd felt honored to be there for her first firefly. That made me think of Ben, who I’d also met at camp. He was British and beautiful and I was crazy surprised he was beguiled by ME. He broke my heart years later. My mind kept spinning and I remembered meeting a cousin for the first time in Youngstown, OH and being petrified that this little girl would catch fireflies in a jar and then violently tear off the glowing torsos of their bodies. So many thoughts, too many thoughts, all unbridled and restless, all of them coming to me quickly and suddenly, some of them welcome, some unwelcome. The fireflies kept lighting up.
And it wasn’t just one firefly, but an infinite amount of fireflies.
I thought to myself, I’ll count up to 15 for fun and then I’ll head home, but the fireflies kept lighting up all around me. I made it to 31 just for kicks because I was born on the 31st, and then up to 50 and then 75 all within a matter of 10 minutes or so. The fireflies wouldn’t stop. But they did slow down. Sometimes the light storm would cease and I would think the game was over, but then, no WAIT, there they would go again!
I decided to keep going. Why not keep going until I had counted ONE HUNDRED FIREFLIES.
98…
I saw a bunny hop across someone’s front lawn. My stomach knotted up in amazing anticipation, as I knew I was about to hit 100 fireflies.
A minute or two passed. The fireflies seemed to stop, the night sky barren of glowing light… And then, much like popcorn kernels reaching their threshold as they heat up during their last seconds on a stovetop, popping in a glorious finish…
99…
100!
On the 100th firefly, I saw a man walking a dog across the street and I decided to wave at him. A friendly moment commemorating 100. He did not know who I was. I did not know who he was. He waved back anyway.
I had lost all track of time and location. And when I finally stopped counting around 108, I realized I had no idea where I was, somehow lost in the maze of roads and twists in my old subdivision, unable to navigate which way was north or south or east or west, just using landmarks to get myself back home.
The web of memories had all stopped while I counted the fireflies, my mind had quieted, and I felt a sense of calm as I walked back to my childhood house.
I opened my front door and found my father watching TV in the den.
“We were beginning to worry,” he told me.
“I know, I got lost,” I replied, sitting down besides him on the couch.
“But I’m home now,” I breathed. “I’m home now.”
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Traitor to my gender
I love women. I AM one. We are shiny and lacy and pretty and opinionated.
But I also find some women awful. Sometimes I wish I were a man. Sometimes.
And I feel like a snot for thinking this about certain women, but I do.
Particular women.
These are some women I find particularly troublesome and/or annoying:
1. Women who wear shoes they can't walk in.
Why would you do this to yourself? The truth is, if it doesn't fit in the store, it's not going to fit at home. Don't waste your time trying to break it in. Do you realize you look dumb with 3 band-aids on your ankle? Look at it this way. Would you buy a shirt that left gashes on your stomach? No. Then why do you think it's okay to buy a shoe that leaves gashes on your toes. Exactly. You should not buy shoes you can't walk in. You do not look sexy. You look like you are about to topple over. Take off your stilettos and your 6-inch platforms and own up to a nice pair of sensible flats.
2. Women with east coast Manhattan accents.
I'm sorry, I just think you sound silly.
3. Women who look like hookers.
I know that I am guilty of fashion errors, I did wear far too many mismatched socks up until...well, okay, I still wear mismatched socks (I blame Punky Brewster for this undying habit) but I do not dress like a hooker. There is a classy way to show off your goods. I'm all for a plunging neckline and a short short skirt. Just usually not at the same time. We have friends and mirrors to let us know when we look ridiculous. Let's use them.
4. Arm candy women hanging from the arms of rich men.
We all know women like this. They dress the part, say yes, like money, flashy cars, parties, and Flirtinis. Any woman who orders a Flirtini should just....okay, back to the real matter. These women are beautiful. You secretly want to look like them. And I will preface this by saying some loving couples just happen to BE rich and beautiful. They are lovely and blessed. Seriously, they will have beautiful families and lovely stories and tender happy lives. But there are some couples where this is blatantly not the case. There are some women who use their men. Men buy these women breast implants, cars, jewelry, pay their rent, take them to villas, etc. Some women know they can get what they want. They are sorceresses divine. These women are beautiful and dangerous. They are the sirens of the world and what makes them dangerous is that they are quite aware of their beauty and how to use it for evil.
And for rent.
But I also find some women awful. Sometimes I wish I were a man. Sometimes.
And I feel like a snot for thinking this about certain women, but I do.
Particular women.
These are some women I find particularly troublesome and/or annoying:
1. Women who wear shoes they can't walk in.
Why would you do this to yourself? The truth is, if it doesn't fit in the store, it's not going to fit at home. Don't waste your time trying to break it in. Do you realize you look dumb with 3 band-aids on your ankle? Look at it this way. Would you buy a shirt that left gashes on your stomach? No. Then why do you think it's okay to buy a shoe that leaves gashes on your toes. Exactly. You should not buy shoes you can't walk in. You do not look sexy. You look like you are about to topple over. Take off your stilettos and your 6-inch platforms and own up to a nice pair of sensible flats.
2. Women with east coast Manhattan accents.
I'm sorry, I just think you sound silly.
3. Women who look like hookers.
I know that I am guilty of fashion errors, I did wear far too many mismatched socks up until...well, okay, I still wear mismatched socks (I blame Punky Brewster for this undying habit) but I do not dress like a hooker. There is a classy way to show off your goods. I'm all for a plunging neckline and a short short skirt. Just usually not at the same time. We have friends and mirrors to let us know when we look ridiculous. Let's use them.
4. Arm candy women hanging from the arms of rich men.
We all know women like this. They dress the part, say yes, like money, flashy cars, parties, and Flirtinis. Any woman who orders a Flirtini should just....okay, back to the real matter. These women are beautiful. You secretly want to look like them. And I will preface this by saying some loving couples just happen to BE rich and beautiful. They are lovely and blessed. Seriously, they will have beautiful families and lovely stories and tender happy lives. But there are some couples where this is blatantly not the case. There are some women who use their men. Men buy these women breast implants, cars, jewelry, pay their rent, take them to villas, etc. Some women know they can get what they want. They are sorceresses divine. These women are beautiful and dangerous. They are the sirens of the world and what makes them dangerous is that they are quite aware of their beauty and how to use it for evil.
And for rent.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Profile of a Man
He had one arm.
His shirt sleeve flapped lightly in the wind as he sat there scribbling gibberish on a lonley sheet of crumpled white computer paper. His handwriting looked haphazard and fantastical. Perhaps he was a genius. Perhaps he was homeless. Perhaps he simply was once right-handed and now had to scrawl with his left hand due to whatever took away his right.
He looked sad. And alone.
He looked very much alone in this world.
And as I walked past the outdoor cafe seating, watching this old man shift uncertainly in his chair on the side of the street, I felt for him very deeply. His weathered face told a story I desperately wanted to know. His eyes were shiny and for a moment I saw his life flash before my eyes. I saw this white-haired man as a son and then a husband and then a father, I saw one white hot crisp moment that changed his life, and then I saw him lose it all....his family, his name, his honor.
He traveled the world. He wrote stories. He found literature. He found drugs. He talked to strangers. He talked to himself.
He existed in the tropics and rode horses.
He saw war. He saw death. He reminisced. He missed his wife, he missed his children.
He had no choice but to imagine a new reality for himself.
Our eyes met for a chance moment and I looked down, continuing on my way, feeling as though I had oddly trespassed or seen too much.
He kept on writing. His face was a still marvel of expression.
For better or worse, maybe this was just a crazy man scribbling on a sheet of paper.
And yet, I felt myself silently hoping that at one point in this old man's life, he had ridden wild horses in the tropics.
I smiled. And then I walked away.
His shirt sleeve flapped lightly in the wind as he sat there scribbling gibberish on a lonley sheet of crumpled white computer paper. His handwriting looked haphazard and fantastical. Perhaps he was a genius. Perhaps he was homeless. Perhaps he simply was once right-handed and now had to scrawl with his left hand due to whatever took away his right.
He looked sad. And alone.
He looked very much alone in this world.
And as I walked past the outdoor cafe seating, watching this old man shift uncertainly in his chair on the side of the street, I felt for him very deeply. His weathered face told a story I desperately wanted to know. His eyes were shiny and for a moment I saw his life flash before my eyes. I saw this white-haired man as a son and then a husband and then a father, I saw one white hot crisp moment that changed his life, and then I saw him lose it all....his family, his name, his honor.
He traveled the world. He wrote stories. He found literature. He found drugs. He talked to strangers. He talked to himself.
He existed in the tropics and rode horses.
He saw war. He saw death. He reminisced. He missed his wife, he missed his children.
He had no choice but to imagine a new reality for himself.
Our eyes met for a chance moment and I looked down, continuing on my way, feeling as though I had oddly trespassed or seen too much.
He kept on writing. His face was a still marvel of expression.
For better or worse, maybe this was just a crazy man scribbling on a sheet of paper.
And yet, I felt myself silently hoping that at one point in this old man's life, he had ridden wild horses in the tropics.
I smiled. And then I walked away.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Life is like Tetris.
Life is like Tetris.
Really.
Some pieces fit. And some do not.
We eagerly await each misshapen piece as it falls from the sky, and as it falls at an alarmingly accelerated rate, we lay down those pieces as our foundation the best we can.
We look up in anticipation of the next piece of the puzzle. What will we be given? How will we use it? Will it fit the way we need it to... the way we want it to?
Some pieces fall from the heavens and slide into the valleys as though they were always meant to fill those voids. These blocks make sense, they are a smooth and shiny YES giving us affirmation that we are moving in the right direction.
And some of those pieces just don't make sense anywhere.
Sometimes we look up and we find ourselves face to face with a piece of the puzzle that just doesn't fit. We look for a place to hide it or disguise it; sometimes we try to jab it in a corner or fling it unobtrusively into other pieces, though they don't make any sense in those places either.
But it's the best we can do with what we are given. It's just the best we can do.
.........Some pieces fit together better than others.........
And honestly, once we have turned that rapidly descending piece around in the air 5 or 6 times desperately hoping it will swan dive amicably and pleasantly (and maybe even beautifully?) into place, there is little more we can do.
The pieces of the puzzle will fall. And sometimes there is no use fighting the blocks that don't fit. Because they either do or they don't.
A wise Russian princess once said to me that when something is going to work it just will. Effortlessly. Easily. It will just work. And if we must try so hard, well, it probably won't. It's not supposed to....Trying to fit a square into a circle? Try as we might, it's not going anywhere. Why do we fight so hard to make the ill-fitting pieces fit? Human nature. We want the impossible. We want order. We fight the chaos.
And then we must embrace the chaos. It is a beautiful thing.
When more and more pieces stop fitting, the blocks build up until the complications reach the sky. We twist and we turn and we writhe and we look for ways to fix the poor turns and ill-landings that we've designed on our own, and the pieces fall faster and faster with more intensity until we reach:
GAME OVER.
The pieces tell a story. They are our own pieces. It is our story.
Sometimes the game is just over. It is time to start over. We tried to make the pieces fit, and well, heck, they just didn't.
But there is always the next game.
And the next high-score to beat.
And when those pieces do fall magically and effortlessly into the right places, life is sweetly ours to enjoy
round
after
round.
Really.
Some pieces fit. And some do not.
We eagerly await each misshapen piece as it falls from the sky, and as it falls at an alarmingly accelerated rate, we lay down those pieces as our foundation the best we can.
We look up in anticipation of the next piece of the puzzle. What will we be given? How will we use it? Will it fit the way we need it to... the way we want it to?
Some pieces fall from the heavens and slide into the valleys as though they were always meant to fill those voids. These blocks make sense, they are a smooth and shiny YES giving us affirmation that we are moving in the right direction.
And some of those pieces just don't make sense anywhere.
Sometimes we look up and we find ourselves face to face with a piece of the puzzle that just doesn't fit. We look for a place to hide it or disguise it; sometimes we try to jab it in a corner or fling it unobtrusively into other pieces, though they don't make any sense in those places either.
But it's the best we can do with what we are given. It's just the best we can do.
.........Some pieces fit together better than others.........
And honestly, once we have turned that rapidly descending piece around in the air 5 or 6 times desperately hoping it will swan dive amicably and pleasantly (and maybe even beautifully?) into place, there is little more we can do.
The pieces of the puzzle will fall. And sometimes there is no use fighting the blocks that don't fit. Because they either do or they don't.
A wise Russian princess once said to me that when something is going to work it just will. Effortlessly. Easily. It will just work. And if we must try so hard, well, it probably won't. It's not supposed to....Trying to fit a square into a circle? Try as we might, it's not going anywhere. Why do we fight so hard to make the ill-fitting pieces fit? Human nature. We want the impossible. We want order. We fight the chaos.
And then we must embrace the chaos. It is a beautiful thing.
When more and more pieces stop fitting, the blocks build up until the complications reach the sky. We twist and we turn and we writhe and we look for ways to fix the poor turns and ill-landings that we've designed on our own, and the pieces fall faster and faster with more intensity until we reach:
GAME OVER.
The pieces tell a story. They are our own pieces. It is our story.
Sometimes the game is just over. It is time to start over. We tried to make the pieces fit, and well, heck, they just didn't.
But there is always the next game.
And the next high-score to beat.
And when those pieces do fall magically and effortlessly into the right places, life is sweetly ours to enjoy
round
after
round.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
The Fragile Plant
On my window sill sits a very fragile plant.
You would think that its slender stems and paper-thin leaves would not survive the harsh winter drafts and lack of sunlight. You would suppose that its abuse and frequent water-deprivation from its sometimes less than doting owner would leave this poor plant hopeless and for dead.
But you would be wrong.
This little plant is stronger than it looks.
On the sometimes too-often occasion when it is found drooping and sullen with cracked leaves and broken stems, its owner has almost given up on it. "This plant needs far more attention than once thought!" the owner proclaims. The owner marvels at how the slightest lack of care can make it crumble.
How much care living creatures need. Sometimes not even immense care. Just care in general.
Acknowledgment of existence.
And when the owner blesses it with holy water trying to revive it (overdoses it with water, really, guilty and trying to make up for the weeks of ill-treatment and abuse) the fragile plant does the unthinkable.
It rises once again.
It comes back to life.
This unthinkably strong plant fights for its life, drinks in the water and remains. It reaches deep within itself and finds the strength to stand up tall and and survive.
And what's crazy is that this fragile plant, every time it is knocked down, comes back stronger than before.
Yes, it is weathered now. It has tears and rips in its precious pink-veined leaves. It has a few broken stems and several crackled limbs. But in its battle to survive, it somehow comes back stronger and fuller.
And after every war, the fragile plant seems to bloom. It says, 'Look at me! I'm still here! I took the abuse, I took the ill-treatment, I have lived through this war, and here I am! And I am beautiful and tall and lovely and I stand stronger this time because I lived through it. And I'll do it again too. And I'll come back. Lovelier and brighter because now I know how."
This fragile plant is a hero.
It is innocent and damaged at the same time. It bravely sports its scars and cuts and battle wounds.
This fragile plant is a reminder to us all.
We should all be as strong as this fragile plant and let ourselves bloom in the night after the battle has ceased.
Because all we need to do is drink in the water. And the strength we thought we lost?
It lies within our crackled leaves.
You would think that its slender stems and paper-thin leaves would not survive the harsh winter drafts and lack of sunlight. You would suppose that its abuse and frequent water-deprivation from its sometimes less than doting owner would leave this poor plant hopeless and for dead.
But you would be wrong.
This little plant is stronger than it looks.
On the sometimes too-often occasion when it is found drooping and sullen with cracked leaves and broken stems, its owner has almost given up on it. "This plant needs far more attention than once thought!" the owner proclaims. The owner marvels at how the slightest lack of care can make it crumble.
How much care living creatures need. Sometimes not even immense care. Just care in general.
Acknowledgment of existence.
And when the owner blesses it with holy water trying to revive it (overdoses it with water, really, guilty and trying to make up for the weeks of ill-treatment and abuse) the fragile plant does the unthinkable.
It rises once again.
It comes back to life.
This unthinkably strong plant fights for its life, drinks in the water and remains. It reaches deep within itself and finds the strength to stand up tall and and survive.
And what's crazy is that this fragile plant, every time it is knocked down, comes back stronger than before.
Yes, it is weathered now. It has tears and rips in its precious pink-veined leaves. It has a few broken stems and several crackled limbs. But in its battle to survive, it somehow comes back stronger and fuller.
And after every war, the fragile plant seems to bloom. It says, 'Look at me! I'm still here! I took the abuse, I took the ill-treatment, I have lived through this war, and here I am! And I am beautiful and tall and lovely and I stand stronger this time because I lived through it. And I'll do it again too. And I'll come back. Lovelier and brighter because now I know how."
This fragile plant is a hero.
It is innocent and damaged at the same time. It bravely sports its scars and cuts and battle wounds.
This fragile plant is a reminder to us all.
We should all be as strong as this fragile plant and let ourselves bloom in the night after the battle has ceased.
Because all we need to do is drink in the water. And the strength we thought we lost?
It lies within our crackled leaves.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Great Expectations
Maybe Shakespeare was right..."Expectation is the root of all heartache..."
Well, no one can actually confirm it was Shakespeare who said that. But most people give credit to the Bard.
Buddha agrees:
He believes that expectation is essentially evil, that attachment to high expectations leads us down a path of lows when expectations are not met.
"It is not the outcome that stole your peace - it is your decision to have expectations and emotional attachments to a specific outcome that stole your inner peace..."
Buddha didn't say that directly. Some chick on some Buddhist website said that.
I suppose most of us could be considered Buddhist failures.
I am guilty, as well. I might as well be the biggest Buddhist failure there is. It's a gift really. An uncanny knack for misreading most situations.
Well, let's ask the question then:
Maybe.
But would that be any fun? What would happen to the daydreams and the hidden smiles? The hard work and the reached goals? The challenges met and the obstacles conquered?
Let's pick at it from another point of view. As an actor, we are always thinking, always wondering, always looking for an answer, always fighting for the outcome. We, as characters, hope and want things to turn out certain ways. Maybe we need expectations to drive us ahead, painful as they might be at times. These same painful expectations can also be unspeakably beautiful.
Most characters (at least the interesting ones), by Buddha's standards, are dismal Buddhist failure rejects. They are probably the worst of the worst. They have wild expectations and attachments to outcomes. Love, sex, death, drugs, future....the great plays are laced with expectation.
And so is real life.
Life is laced with expectation. And while Buddha and Shakespeare might be right, what are we to do about it?
Really.
How hard it is to separate what we'd like to happen, hope might happen, and think might happen from our minds and souls.
If we never expected anything, would we simply be pleasantly surprised when things DID go our way?
Would there be disappointment? Would we feel joy without the dreaded but wonderful 'expectation?'
Shakespeare wrote play after play full of shattered expectations. Life is drama.
The truth is, it is human to expect. It is human to attach ourselves to people and to desired outcomes.
We may not always get what we want.
But how sweet it is when we do.
Well, no one can actually confirm it was Shakespeare who said that. But most people give credit to the Bard.
Buddha agrees:
He believes that expectation is essentially evil, that attachment to high expectations leads us down a path of lows when expectations are not met.
"It is not the outcome that stole your peace - it is your decision to have expectations and emotional attachments to a specific outcome that stole your inner peace..."
Buddha didn't say that directly. Some chick on some Buddhist website said that.
I suppose most of us could be considered Buddhist failures.
I am guilty, as well. I might as well be the biggest Buddhist failure there is. It's a gift really. An uncanny knack for misreading most situations.
Well, let's ask the question then:
Is it possible to hold expectations at bay?
Maybe.
But would that be any fun? What would happen to the daydreams and the hidden smiles? The hard work and the reached goals? The challenges met and the obstacles conquered?
Let's pick at it from another point of view. As an actor, we are always thinking, always wondering, always looking for an answer, always fighting for the outcome. We, as characters, hope and want things to turn out certain ways. Maybe we need expectations to drive us ahead, painful as they might be at times. These same painful expectations can also be unspeakably beautiful.
Most characters (at least the interesting ones), by Buddha's standards, are dismal Buddhist failure rejects. They are probably the worst of the worst. They have wild expectations and attachments to outcomes. Love, sex, death, drugs, future....the great plays are laced with expectation.
And so is real life.
Life is laced with expectation. And while Buddha and Shakespeare might be right, what are we to do about it?
Really.
How hard it is to separate what we'd like to happen, hope might happen, and think might happen from our minds and souls.
If we never expected anything, would we simply be pleasantly surprised when things DID go our way?
Would there be disappointment? Would we feel joy without the dreaded but wonderful 'expectation?'
Shakespeare wrote play after play full of shattered expectations. Life is drama.
The truth is, it is human to expect. It is human to attach ourselves to people and to desired outcomes.
We may not always get what we want.
But how sweet it is when we do.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
The Sugar High
I might be in the process of overdosing on Sour Patch children.
The back office is full of sugar. Sugar is in every corner. I feel like a puppy in a cage stuck behind the front desk with bundles of sugar-induced energy, wanting to run around in circles or salsa dance deliberately in front of the fish-tank glass walls, but I am trapped behind the front desk with only twelve check-ins left and three hours ahead of me.
The football players look at me cross-eyed when I ask for their identification--they assume I should know who they are, but I truly don't. This makes me laugh. Quiet little laughs. Behind their backs, of course, when they can't hear me.
I try to take a pencap off of a pen for a guest to sign their registration card, and for some reason, I fail miserably in removing the cap. "Well that's on there tight!" I exclaim. I give the guest another pen while my German supervisor removes the pencap with one great tug. "It's all the potatoes!" she smiles at me. The guests laugh.
I dash to the back for another piece of candy, because candy calls to me at the best of times, and when it is taunting me from a mere 100 feet away, I almost certainly will succumb to its peer pressure and sweet siren calls.
"Eat me.....! Eat me.....!" the candy cheers.
I eat the candy! In one swoop! Gone! FFxzzzz popppp whooooooosh.
Those who know me know I have crazy little silly sessions that often last for 10 minutes at a time, giggle fits and swooshy limbs and lilts of nonsensical laughter towards jokes that only make sense to me.
Some people would say these are special times. Yes.
Women walk around in the lobby in clothing they should seriously re-think.
Some women should not wear mini-skirts. There. I said it.
I feel the sour patch kids wreaking havoc. They are playing hopscotch and jumping rope and want to make fools of themselves in a kickball game. They are listening to smooth jazz playing and are getting bored. They are starting to irritate me.
They are ready to go to the bar. My stomach is getting upset. But nooooOOOOoooooo, don't let them win!
Onwards! Onwards to the bar with the sour patch kids in mini skirts and the pups in cages about to be freed!
Two hours and 20 minutes left.
The sugar is wearing off.
I feel a calm now.
Well, calmer, at least. And a little gross.
I am clearly crazy.
Love,
K.xxxx
The back office is full of sugar. Sugar is in every corner. I feel like a puppy in a cage stuck behind the front desk with bundles of sugar-induced energy, wanting to run around in circles or salsa dance deliberately in front of the fish-tank glass walls, but I am trapped behind the front desk with only twelve check-ins left and three hours ahead of me.
The football players look at me cross-eyed when I ask for their identification--they assume I should know who they are, but I truly don't. This makes me laugh. Quiet little laughs. Behind their backs, of course, when they can't hear me.
I try to take a pencap off of a pen for a guest to sign their registration card, and for some reason, I fail miserably in removing the cap. "Well that's on there tight!" I exclaim. I give the guest another pen while my German supervisor removes the pencap with one great tug. "It's all the potatoes!" she smiles at me. The guests laugh.
I dash to the back for another piece of candy, because candy calls to me at the best of times, and when it is taunting me from a mere 100 feet away, I almost certainly will succumb to its peer pressure and sweet siren calls.
"Eat me.....! Eat me.....!" the candy cheers.
I eat the candy! In one swoop! Gone! FFxzzzz popppp whooooooosh.
Those who know me know I have crazy little silly sessions that often last for 10 minutes at a time, giggle fits and swooshy limbs and lilts of nonsensical laughter towards jokes that only make sense to me.
Some people would say these are special times. Yes.
Women walk around in the lobby in clothing they should seriously re-think.
Some women should not wear mini-skirts. There. I said it.
I feel the sour patch kids wreaking havoc. They are playing hopscotch and jumping rope and want to make fools of themselves in a kickball game. They are listening to smooth jazz playing and are getting bored. They are starting to irritate me.
They are ready to go to the bar. My stomach is getting upset. But nooooOOOOoooooo, don't let them win!
Onwards! Onwards to the bar with the sour patch kids in mini skirts and the pups in cages about to be freed!
Two hours and 20 minutes left.
The sugar is wearing off.
I feel a calm now.
Well, calmer, at least. And a little gross.
I am clearly crazy.
Love,
K.xxxx
Friday, April 2, 2010
Joy Chronicles Part II
1. Sundresses
Ahhhh, the smooth fabric, the vibrant colors, the feeling of freedom after winning the winter-war against the binding persecution of pants.... Yes, there is a certain feeling of delight that occurs once the sun shines brightly enough for one to sport a sundress. It is a feeling of sheer JOY. When the weather reaches heights of warmth, fellow Chicagoan females (and some males) unite and decide to abandon as many articles of clothing as possible. And that is where the sundress comes in. There is nothing quite like walking around town with a soft, wafting, airy dress billowing around your legs. Not only is it freeing and feminine, it is full of spirit and promises of summer.
2. Hearing the ringtone on your phone after forgetting what it sounds like
Sometimes you put that sucker on silent. Or vibrate. Sometimes you just don't remember what your tones sound like. Yes, you might have put in some thoughtful time deciding what you wanted your ring tone to be when you first got your phone, weighing the pros and cons of rock versus a rotary-sounding jingle, but practicality set in when you realized you had to turn your phone to silent more often than you'd like. At work, at rehearsal, during shows, etc....It turns out not everyone likes hearing your perfectly picked out resonation.
Time passes and you don't even realize that you, yourself, have forgotten what tone you once picked. But then comes that fateful day when you turn your phone to the normal setting, and you are taken aback when the joyful techno song starts playing!
Why this might be the first time you've heard your tone in a month and a half! Joy starts rippling through your body, a smile perches on your lips, and you ROCK OUT at your desk, doing your signature dorky fist bump move so that it is visible to the construction workers meddling away outside your apartment through your open window. Yes. Dorky techno ringtones. YES.
3. Human spirit and comradery as observed underground
You enter the subway and hear the sweet melodic warblings of a 20-something male artist, his guitar and his gravelly voice enthusiastic, yet somewhat gritty, like he's been through it. Yes, he knows about life. You lean against a pillar, waiting for the train to arrive, when all of a sudden, you see another man obviously enjoying the music beyond his control. He is MOVED by it, loves the sounds, the echos, the artist's voice, the guitar riffs. He watches and listens, soon giving the singer some money.
And then, when the singer gets to a musical interlude, the moved man steps next to him and breaks out into free verse!
Yes, engulfed by emotion, the moved man joins the singer and creates one of the most awesome acts of human spirit ever witnessed. At first one might wonder if the man is crazy, but it turns out he is an artist too, full of poetry and life. The singer's guitar paired with the man's spoken poetic word creates an impromptu slam poetry event never seen before. Underground, uninhibited, completely spontaneous. And all because of artistry and appreciation.
The train starts to roll into the station and the moved man shakes the singer's hand, smiles vibrantly, and boards the southbound red-line train, his day obviously altered in ways he hadn't expected when he left work 15 minutes earlier.
4. Saying hi to people you don't know
Maybe it's because you were taught to be friendly, or maybe it's because you are from the Midwest, but every once in awhile, you say hi to people you don't know. Sure, New Yorkers scoff upon such consideration, but Chicagoans and nice girls from Michigan believe otherwise. When you walk down the street and say hi to someone you don't know, you change that stranger's day just a little bit. They might think you are crazy, they might smile back and say hello, they might wonder if they actually do know you, but the point remains that most strangers appreciate a random act of kindness like that. In fact, your smiling mug might just make their day.
5. Finishing a race you never thought you could run
So you want to run for miles and miles when a year and a half earlier you were hobbling to the copy machine at work? Impossible. Sit down and eat a donut.
But NO!!!! You will persevere.
You run here and there and fight fatigue and lack of training and aches and pains. And you tell your knees to grow a pair and just do it. You yell at your hip and say STOP screaming at me to slow down...And race day comes and you've had just 5 or so hours of sleep and you did a show 4 nights in a row and have worked every day the past week, as well, but you say, GODDAMMIT, I'm running this race....
You get to Grant Park and join the other 25,000 runners, knowing you are running this 8k for so many reasons, but the biggest reason is to prove to yourself you can do it. You can take an injured body and heal it once again. Every mile marker, you throw your hands up in the air in excitement. You gladly accept the high-fives of strangers cheering you on. You take on the Gatorade and cups of water that the volunteers are handing out like they do in the movies. You smile broadly at the old lady who is ringing the cow-bell to encourage runners to the finish line.....
....and as you near that finish line, you are overwhelmed. You are dazzled with yourself. You have broken your own physical limits, you have refreshed your soul, you possibly shed a tear or two as you cross the finish line. Because you did it. And you did it for yourself.
Ahhhh, the smooth fabric, the vibrant colors, the feeling of freedom after winning the winter-war against the binding persecution of pants.... Yes, there is a certain feeling of delight that occurs once the sun shines brightly enough for one to sport a sundress. It is a feeling of sheer JOY. When the weather reaches heights of warmth, fellow Chicagoan females (and some males) unite and decide to abandon as many articles of clothing as possible. And that is where the sundress comes in. There is nothing quite like walking around town with a soft, wafting, airy dress billowing around your legs. Not only is it freeing and feminine, it is full of spirit and promises of summer.
2. Hearing the ringtone on your phone after forgetting what it sounds like
Sometimes you put that sucker on silent. Or vibrate. Sometimes you just don't remember what your tones sound like. Yes, you might have put in some thoughtful time deciding what you wanted your ring tone to be when you first got your phone, weighing the pros and cons of rock versus a rotary-sounding jingle, but practicality set in when you realized you had to turn your phone to silent more often than you'd like. At work, at rehearsal, during shows, etc....It turns out not everyone likes hearing your perfectly picked out resonation.
Time passes and you don't even realize that you, yourself, have forgotten what tone you once picked. But then comes that fateful day when you turn your phone to the normal setting, and you are taken aback when the joyful techno song starts playing!
Why this might be the first time you've heard your tone in a month and a half! Joy starts rippling through your body, a smile perches on your lips, and you ROCK OUT at your desk, doing your signature dorky fist bump move so that it is visible to the construction workers meddling away outside your apartment through your open window. Yes. Dorky techno ringtones. YES.
3. Human spirit and comradery as observed underground
You enter the subway and hear the sweet melodic warblings of a 20-something male artist, his guitar and his gravelly voice enthusiastic, yet somewhat gritty, like he's been through it. Yes, he knows about life. You lean against a pillar, waiting for the train to arrive, when all of a sudden, you see another man obviously enjoying the music beyond his control. He is MOVED by it, loves the sounds, the echos, the artist's voice, the guitar riffs. He watches and listens, soon giving the singer some money.
And then, when the singer gets to a musical interlude, the moved man steps next to him and breaks out into free verse!
Yes, engulfed by emotion, the moved man joins the singer and creates one of the most awesome acts of human spirit ever witnessed. At first one might wonder if the man is crazy, but it turns out he is an artist too, full of poetry and life. The singer's guitar paired with the man's spoken poetic word creates an impromptu slam poetry event never seen before. Underground, uninhibited, completely spontaneous. And all because of artistry and appreciation.
The train starts to roll into the station and the moved man shakes the singer's hand, smiles vibrantly, and boards the southbound red-line train, his day obviously altered in ways he hadn't expected when he left work 15 minutes earlier.
4. Saying hi to people you don't know
Maybe it's because you were taught to be friendly, or maybe it's because you are from the Midwest, but every once in awhile, you say hi to people you don't know. Sure, New Yorkers scoff upon such consideration, but Chicagoans and nice girls from Michigan believe otherwise. When you walk down the street and say hi to someone you don't know, you change that stranger's day just a little bit. They might think you are crazy, they might smile back and say hello, they might wonder if they actually do know you, but the point remains that most strangers appreciate a random act of kindness like that. In fact, your smiling mug might just make their day.
5. Finishing a race you never thought you could run
So you want to run for miles and miles when a year and a half earlier you were hobbling to the copy machine at work? Impossible. Sit down and eat a donut.
But NO!!!! You will persevere.
You run here and there and fight fatigue and lack of training and aches and pains. And you tell your knees to grow a pair and just do it. You yell at your hip and say STOP screaming at me to slow down...And race day comes and you've had just 5 or so hours of sleep and you did a show 4 nights in a row and have worked every day the past week, as well, but you say, GODDAMMIT, I'm running this race....
You get to Grant Park and join the other 25,000 runners, knowing you are running this 8k for so many reasons, but the biggest reason is to prove to yourself you can do it. You can take an injured body and heal it once again. Every mile marker, you throw your hands up in the air in excitement. You gladly accept the high-fives of strangers cheering you on. You take on the Gatorade and cups of water that the volunteers are handing out like they do in the movies. You smile broadly at the old lady who is ringing the cow-bell to encourage runners to the finish line.....
....and as you near that finish line, you are overwhelmed. You are dazzled with yourself. You have broken your own physical limits, you have refreshed your soul, you possibly shed a tear or two as you cross the finish line. Because you did it. And you did it for yourself.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Jaws, Blobs, Hot-Chocolate, and 3-Legged Dogs
Between my jaw, work, tech, and rehearsals, the month of February flew away: Thoughts and observations from the shortest month of the year. Thank God it was a short one.
1. My Jaw.
How on Earth did I dislocate my jaw. I don't know how it is possible to awaken with a tight jaw in the morning and have a disclocated jaw by nightfall. There I was, eating a popsicle when all of a sudden I was consumed with pain. Unable to eat regularly anymore, but attempting anyway, I attacked the popsicle the best I could. It was a sugar free fudgsicle. I will never forget this brand and will probably always associate dislocated jaws with fudgsicles now. By the next morning I could neither eat solids, nor could I function within the realm of societal standards. Talking was a chore, rehearsal was a nightmare, work was even worse. Laughing and smiling? Out. After realizing I had the inability to chew a mere noodle, I decided it was time for a doctor. My HMO proved feeble and I was sent all over the city with no answers. X-rays in hand, two doctor visits, and a hospital trip later, I still had no official answer. The dentist told me my jaw "probably" dislocated while I was eating and then snapped back into place sometime in the next day or so. After 2 weeks of soft foods and billions of pain-killers, here I am, jaw functioning and practically back to normal again.
WEIRD.
**********************
Sidenote: I really like the Dunkin Donuts ad that claims their hot chocolate is better than mittens. Really like it. Because I love mittens. But I might love hot chocolate more. I'm not sure. I actually think I might love hot chocolate and mittens equally. Equality is best. Just ask Switzerland.
**********************
2. The Blob.
The Somewhat Gelatinous Blob From Beyond the Grave has given me joy in many ways. I took on this project not really knowing what to expect and I ultimately accepted the role for many reasons, but one of the major reasons was to have a world of ridiculousness in which to escape. After the way my autumn went down, I figured I could use something to brighten up my winter. Compensated or not, I was going to be Midge, the president's daughter, and I was going to laugh and make friends and tackle a project that seemed out of the ordinary to me. I am so thankful for this project. After lots of hard work and research, the BLOB cast has created a crazy absurdist melodramatic world that works and I'm so pleased with how it has turned out! Yes, very thankful to be a part of this.
************************
Sidenote: I kind of wish I knew a 3-legged dog. How cool would that be? I wonder if they can do everything that 4-legged dogs can do, just with a little more effort. Are they like blondes and do they have more fun?
************************
3. Shamrock Shuffle.
Okay, am I really running in the Shamrock Shuffle or is this just a cruel joke I decided to play on myself? I thought I could get it together, but sleep deprivation, a cold, a misplaced jaw, and rehearsals have kept my training schedule at bay. Sure, I've gotten up to 4 miles, but I have not cracked past that marker yet, and the race is in ohhhhh, 3 weeks? I would like to invent a button I could press that would allow me to magically have the endurance and strength to run this race without messing up my knees and my hip again. That's what the training was going to be for, to make sure I didn't rip up my body. Well. I'm just going to light a candle and hop back on the asphalt starting Thursday. That's right! I'm going to kick this cold, and I'm going to blaze down the street in my joggers and mittens. With a cup of hot chocolate.
**********************
Sidenote: What do you do when you are dehydrated but your body NEEDS caffeine? It is evil. Do you simultaneously drink coffee and a gallon of water at the same time? Isn't there something that will pep you up without dehydrating you? Perhaps this is a drug I am not aware of. Perhaps I should get on drugs.
**********************
1. My Jaw.
How on Earth did I dislocate my jaw. I don't know how it is possible to awaken with a tight jaw in the morning and have a disclocated jaw by nightfall. There I was, eating a popsicle when all of a sudden I was consumed with pain. Unable to eat regularly anymore, but attempting anyway, I attacked the popsicle the best I could. It was a sugar free fudgsicle. I will never forget this brand and will probably always associate dislocated jaws with fudgsicles now. By the next morning I could neither eat solids, nor could I function within the realm of societal standards. Talking was a chore, rehearsal was a nightmare, work was even worse. Laughing and smiling? Out. After realizing I had the inability to chew a mere noodle, I decided it was time for a doctor. My HMO proved feeble and I was sent all over the city with no answers. X-rays in hand, two doctor visits, and a hospital trip later, I still had no official answer. The dentist told me my jaw "probably" dislocated while I was eating and then snapped back into place sometime in the next day or so. After 2 weeks of soft foods and billions of pain-killers, here I am, jaw functioning and practically back to normal again.
WEIRD.
**********************
Sidenote: I really like the Dunkin Donuts ad that claims their hot chocolate is better than mittens. Really like it. Because I love mittens. But I might love hot chocolate more. I'm not sure. I actually think I might love hot chocolate and mittens equally. Equality is best. Just ask Switzerland.
**********************
2. The Blob.
The Somewhat Gelatinous Blob From Beyond the Grave has given me joy in many ways. I took on this project not really knowing what to expect and I ultimately accepted the role for many reasons, but one of the major reasons was to have a world of ridiculousness in which to escape. After the way my autumn went down, I figured I could use something to brighten up my winter. Compensated or not, I was going to be Midge, the president's daughter, and I was going to laugh and make friends and tackle a project that seemed out of the ordinary to me. I am so thankful for this project. After lots of hard work and research, the BLOB cast has created a crazy absurdist melodramatic world that works and I'm so pleased with how it has turned out! Yes, very thankful to be a part of this.
************************
Sidenote: I kind of wish I knew a 3-legged dog. How cool would that be? I wonder if they can do everything that 4-legged dogs can do, just with a little more effort. Are they like blondes and do they have more fun?
************************
3. Shamrock Shuffle.
Okay, am I really running in the Shamrock Shuffle or is this just a cruel joke I decided to play on myself? I thought I could get it together, but sleep deprivation, a cold, a misplaced jaw, and rehearsals have kept my training schedule at bay. Sure, I've gotten up to 4 miles, but I have not cracked past that marker yet, and the race is in ohhhhh, 3 weeks? I would like to invent a button I could press that would allow me to magically have the endurance and strength to run this race without messing up my knees and my hip again. That's what the training was going to be for, to make sure I didn't rip up my body. Well. I'm just going to light a candle and hop back on the asphalt starting Thursday. That's right! I'm going to kick this cold, and I'm going to blaze down the street in my joggers and mittens. With a cup of hot chocolate.
**********************
Sidenote: What do you do when you are dehydrated but your body NEEDS caffeine? It is evil. Do you simultaneously drink coffee and a gallon of water at the same time? Isn't there something that will pep you up without dehydrating you? Perhaps this is a drug I am not aware of. Perhaps I should get on drugs.
**********************
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Peanut butter motorcycle-riding hypercolor trainseat takers.
1. Why is there nutritional value for unpopped popcorn seeds on the back of the popcorn bag? Who is actually eating these kernels straight from the bag? And where do all of the calories and fat content disappear to once the kernels have been popped? One piece of popcorn has considerably less calories and fat than one individual kernel. This is very confusing to me. I need to consult a nutritionist.
2. There is nothing more disheartening than getting to the bottom of the peanut butter jar and realizing you can no longer easily dip your vegetables or crackers. No, now you have reached the point where you must jam your entire hand in there, inadvertently but inevitably covering your knuckles with chunky and/or smooth peanut butter. The whole ordeal is a sticky mess, and let's face it, always just a bit awkward. Well, I have an idea. Instead of fisting the peanut butter jar, why not have a plastic container that is constructed in two pieces? Once you are halfway done with the jar, you can twist off the top plastic portion of the jar, leaving yourself with a much smaller jar that the lid still twists onto. This will create a much more efficient and enjoyable peanut butter dipping experience. I would not pay more for this, but I DO know it would change my peanut butter world considerably. I need to consult a packaging engineer.
3. Whatever happened to hypercolor t-shirts? Where did they go? I want one. I want to wear a hypercolor t-shirt into a bar and see what would happen. I was too young to wear hypercolor to a bar when hypercolor was in. But now I am old and hypercolor has gone. I want it to make a come-back. I want to start the comeback. I am going to find a hypercolor shirt and wear it to a bar. Would it be a conversation starter? Would people try to do rude things? Would there be a fight? Would I win? Does Katherine gotta cut a bitch? THE WORLD MIGHT GO CRAZY! I need to consult a fashionista.
4. Man on train was taking up two seats. Watched as another passenger business man said "EXCUSE ME," and crawled over him, as the man taking up two seats refused to move.
Business man says, "Oh, I'm sorry, are you paying for both these seats?"
Two-seat-man says, "Ohhhhhhhh, fuuuckkkk you."
(Picture two-seat-man as a middle aged white balding guy with glasses and a winter hat, reading a stack of papers, and looking like he's probably an asshole Republican who likes to ride motorcycles in his spare time and spit in the street cuz he thinks it's cool.)
Business man goes, "You fool! Don't you know you're only supposed to take ONE SEAT?"
Two-seat-man turns up his music and ignores him.
The two men ride in disgruntled silence the rest of the way north.
I don't need to consult anyone on this. I just thought the whole exchange was very funny.
2. There is nothing more disheartening than getting to the bottom of the peanut butter jar and realizing you can no longer easily dip your vegetables or crackers. No, now you have reached the point where you must jam your entire hand in there, inadvertently but inevitably covering your knuckles with chunky and/or smooth peanut butter. The whole ordeal is a sticky mess, and let's face it, always just a bit awkward. Well, I have an idea. Instead of fisting the peanut butter jar, why not have a plastic container that is constructed in two pieces? Once you are halfway done with the jar, you can twist off the top plastic portion of the jar, leaving yourself with a much smaller jar that the lid still twists onto. This will create a much more efficient and enjoyable peanut butter dipping experience. I would not pay more for this, but I DO know it would change my peanut butter world considerably. I need to consult a packaging engineer.
3. Whatever happened to hypercolor t-shirts? Where did they go? I want one. I want to wear a hypercolor t-shirt into a bar and see what would happen. I was too young to wear hypercolor to a bar when hypercolor was in. But now I am old and hypercolor has gone. I want it to make a come-back. I want to start the comeback. I am going to find a hypercolor shirt and wear it to a bar. Would it be a conversation starter? Would people try to do rude things? Would there be a fight? Would I win? Does Katherine gotta cut a bitch? THE WORLD MIGHT GO CRAZY! I need to consult a fashionista.
4. Man on train was taking up two seats. Watched as another passenger business man said "EXCUSE ME," and crawled over him, as the man taking up two seats refused to move.
Business man says, "Oh, I'm sorry, are you paying for both these seats?"
Two-seat-man says, "Ohhhhhhhh, fuuuckkkk you."
(Picture two-seat-man as a middle aged white balding guy with glasses and a winter hat, reading a stack of papers, and looking like he's probably an asshole Republican who likes to ride motorcycles in his spare time and spit in the street cuz he thinks it's cool.)
Business man goes, "You fool! Don't you know you're only supposed to take ONE SEAT?"
Two-seat-man turns up his music and ignores him.
The two men ride in disgruntled silence the rest of the way north.
I don't need to consult anyone on this. I just thought the whole exchange was very funny.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Random Thoughts 1.29.10
There are certain things that entertain me. Things that give me glee. Simple things. For instance:
1. Seeing people singing in their cars.
Sometimes the drivers know they are being watched and, quite simply, do not care. They sing on unapologetically. It is equally exciting when they sing, not realizing others are watching them, and then when they are caught, their faces are covered with the sheepish "ohhhhhhhhhh!" This makes me feel like I was witness to something I wasn't meant to see, resulting in an inner feeling of awkward happiness.
2.When the train is pulling up to you just as you reach the platform.
You are not in a rush. It is a leisurely walk to your destination, and then the train arrives, much like a chauffeur arriving to pick up a rich woman who called a day in advance for door-to-door service.
3. The train stops RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.
I love it when the doors line up with my body and open right in front of me as if that train car was meant specifically for me.
4. Waking up on your day off and realizing you don't need to get up.
There are so many variations on this. One is when you wake up before your alarm would have gone off and you sweetly realize you can go back to bed. Another is when you wake up after the time you would have set your alarm for and, for a split second, you think you are late and thrash around crazily in your covers, but then you realize you don't need to be up at all and you can go back to bed. One other good alarm clock moment is when you wake up and realize you still have 3 hours before you need to get up. Sleep is good. Alarm clocks are not.
*******************************************************************************
SKETCH LIST!
There are also things that make me crazy.
These are the newest Sketch Offenders of the year TEN:
1. Pen caps.
Picking up a pen from the pen holder at work and finding that there are caps on both ends of the pen. So now you don't know which end of the pen is the one that actually writes. Ultimately, there is the split-second decision which cap to pull off first, and really, you have a 50/50 chance of getting it right, but inevitably, you pull off the wrong cap and you just see the ugly stub of the pen that does not write at all, but rather, just sits there with the ink swelling in its bottom. This bothers me. It happens to me a lot.
2. Hangers.
Shopping at a clothing store and picking out the one hanger that seems to have gotten tangled up in all the other hangers, creating a hanger incident whereby the whole bevy of hangers falls to the ground and the one shirt you want is still twisted up, mocking you, because all you wanted to do was see if it was a size 6, but now you just give up because there are fifteen size 2Xs and twenty size 0's dancing around the one real-person-sized shirt you need, so you decide to just let all the hangers win-- except then you decide the hangers can go piss off and you swashbuckle each one expertly and put them back in their pens until you finally wrangle the size 6 and get it to the dressing room only to realize the sizing is off and you really needed an 8 in the first place and your whole struggle was for NOTHING.
that was all one sentence. i think that's pretty cool.
3. Alarm Clocks take 2.
There are sweet alarm clock moments but there are also awful ones. Like the moment when you wake up and realize you have overslept. Or the moment you realize your power went out overnight and you are now late. Or the moment you realize you have set your alarm for PM instead of AM. Or the moment after you have woken up, gotten ready for work or whatnot, and realize that it is your day off and you could have stayed sleeping.
**************************************************************************************
More weird things:
1. Man on the train came up to me and told me he was going to start smoking and he was just giving me a heads up in case I wanted to move. I was angry he was going to smoke, but at the same time, I thought it was nice of him for letting me know about it before he did it.
2. Pregnant lady on train obviously about to pop the big one. She seemed to need a lot of help but no one was helping her. I silently wondered why. I kept my eye on her, prepared to hop up if she needed assistance getting off the train. Something was a little off about her. I wasn't sure what was going on. I kept thinking to myself, "God, Katherine, what's wrong with you, go talk to her, see if she's okay." But I didn't. I still don't know why. Finally, a man helped her get up as she was getting off the train to get to the hospital. As soon as she left, people started talking about how she smelled of alcohol and it seemed like she was drunk.
I still feel bad I never helped her.
1. Seeing people singing in their cars.
Sometimes the drivers know they are being watched and, quite simply, do not care. They sing on unapologetically. It is equally exciting when they sing, not realizing others are watching them, and then when they are caught, their faces are covered with the sheepish "ohhhhhhhhhh!" This makes me feel like I was witness to something I wasn't meant to see, resulting in an inner feeling of awkward happiness.
2.When the train is pulling up to you just as you reach the platform.
You are not in a rush. It is a leisurely walk to your destination, and then the train arrives, much like a chauffeur arriving to pick up a rich woman who called a day in advance for door-to-door service.
3. The train stops RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.
I love it when the doors line up with my body and open right in front of me as if that train car was meant specifically for me.
4. Waking up on your day off and realizing you don't need to get up.
There are so many variations on this. One is when you wake up before your alarm would have gone off and you sweetly realize you can go back to bed. Another is when you wake up after the time you would have set your alarm for and, for a split second, you think you are late and thrash around crazily in your covers, but then you realize you don't need to be up at all and you can go back to bed. One other good alarm clock moment is when you wake up and realize you still have 3 hours before you need to get up. Sleep is good. Alarm clocks are not.
*******************************************************************************
SKETCH LIST!
There are also things that make me crazy.
These are the newest Sketch Offenders of the year TEN:
1. Pen caps.
Picking up a pen from the pen holder at work and finding that there are caps on both ends of the pen. So now you don't know which end of the pen is the one that actually writes. Ultimately, there is the split-second decision which cap to pull off first, and really, you have a 50/50 chance of getting it right, but inevitably, you pull off the wrong cap and you just see the ugly stub of the pen that does not write at all, but rather, just sits there with the ink swelling in its bottom. This bothers me. It happens to me a lot.
2. Hangers.
Shopping at a clothing store and picking out the one hanger that seems to have gotten tangled up in all the other hangers, creating a hanger incident whereby the whole bevy of hangers falls to the ground and the one shirt you want is still twisted up, mocking you, because all you wanted to do was see if it was a size 6, but now you just give up because there are fifteen size 2Xs and twenty size 0's dancing around the one real-person-sized shirt you need, so you decide to just let all the hangers win-- except then you decide the hangers can go piss off and you swashbuckle each one expertly and put them back in their pens until you finally wrangle the size 6 and get it to the dressing room only to realize the sizing is off and you really needed an 8 in the first place and your whole struggle was for NOTHING.
that was all one sentence. i think that's pretty cool.
There are sweet alarm clock moments but there are also awful ones. Like the moment when you wake up and realize you have overslept. Or the moment you realize your power went out overnight and you are now late. Or the moment you realize you have set your alarm for PM instead of AM. Or the moment after you have woken up, gotten ready for work or whatnot, and realize that it is your day off and you could have stayed sleeping.
**************************************************************************************
More weird things:
1. Man on the train came up to me and told me he was going to start smoking and he was just giving me a heads up in case I wanted to move. I was angry he was going to smoke, but at the same time, I thought it was nice of him for letting me know about it before he did it.
2. Pregnant lady on train obviously about to pop the big one. She seemed to need a lot of help but no one was helping her. I silently wondered why. I kept my eye on her, prepared to hop up if she needed assistance getting off the train. Something was a little off about her. I wasn't sure what was going on. I kept thinking to myself, "God, Katherine, what's wrong with you, go talk to her, see if she's okay." But I didn't. I still don't know why. Finally, a man helped her get up as she was getting off the train to get to the hospital. As soon as she left, people started talking about how she smelled of alcohol and it seemed like she was drunk.
I still feel bad I never helped her.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
The Man.
The man wore a black leather jacket, a small green backpack, and had a small head. His hair was thinning at the crown and his glasses suggested far-sightedness.
His gait was reminiscent of a timid businessman unsure of what he would say at his 9am meeting to close the big deal.
His boss had let him coordinate everything, reluctantly.
The man walked up the stairs, breathing sharply, uncomfortably aware that his self-worth hinged upon the next hour and a half. He clung to the strap of his weathered backpack as if he was clinging to the credibility and respect he had built for himself over the past few years.
The man thought of his beautiful wife at the top of the stairs, imagining her face when he would give her the good news.
They had just gotten married the month before.
She never told him she almost didn't walk down the aisle.
He adjusted his glasses and straightened his jacket. And then the man walked around the corner, out of my sight, and into the city.
His gait was reminiscent of a timid businessman unsure of what he would say at his 9am meeting to close the big deal.
His boss had let him coordinate everything, reluctantly.
The man walked up the stairs, breathing sharply, uncomfortably aware that his self-worth hinged upon the next hour and a half. He clung to the strap of his weathered backpack as if he was clinging to the credibility and respect he had built for himself over the past few years.
The man thought of his beautiful wife at the top of the stairs, imagining her face when he would give her the good news.
They had just gotten married the month before.
She never told him she almost didn't walk down the aisle.
He adjusted his glasses and straightened his jacket. And then the man walked around the corner, out of my sight, and into the city.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Random Thoughts 1.19.10
1. Woke up in middle of night to something painfully jabbing me in back. No, was not a man. Was a spoon. There is no explanation for spoon in bed. Remain confused.
2. Continue to see men, women, and children spitting multiple times a day. Continue to see loogies on sidewalk. Most current realization: it is far worse to see a loogie on street while yawning than while not yawning. Gross icky feeling ensues when mouth is open.
3. Roommate arrived back at apartment from night shift at bar just as I was getting ready to leave apartment for morning shift at hotel. We stared at each other, noting situation was just disgusting. She went to bed and I went to work. Dejavu 9 hours later as I came home from work to take nap just as she was about to leave home to start day. Repeat disgusting feeling.
4. Woman called hotel inquiring about a bottle of hot sauce left at front desk for her. Hot sauce nowhere to be seen. Decide woman is crazy.
5. Man comes down from guest room and leaves bottle of hot sauce for lady at front desk. Things now make sense. Decide they are both crazy.
6. Man checked in wearing feathered vintage 1940s hat. Reminded of childhood when I once stole feathers from crisp new mens' hats in department store. Not just one. A whole flock of feathers. Mom and Dad found said feathers in car when we got home. They were not pleased. My alibi: Gem and the Holograms made me do it. Gem wanted the feathers. I cried. I was maybe less than 5 years old. Mom and Dad did not turn me in. That is when my life of crime began.
7. Young children with bright posters lit up Clark street yesterday morning raising money for Haiti. Their spirit gives us hope.
8. Graffiti word of the day: HEAR
Where seen: Wall of red line train written in black in between the red line stops.
Up for interpretation: Listen to what people are actually saying. Really listen. Indulge. Engage.
You might hear something unspoken.
2. Continue to see men, women, and children spitting multiple times a day. Continue to see loogies on sidewalk. Most current realization: it is far worse to see a loogie on street while yawning than while not yawning. Gross icky feeling ensues when mouth is open.
3. Roommate arrived back at apartment from night shift at bar just as I was getting ready to leave apartment for morning shift at hotel. We stared at each other, noting situation was just disgusting. She went to bed and I went to work. Dejavu 9 hours later as I came home from work to take nap just as she was about to leave home to start day. Repeat disgusting feeling.
4. Woman called hotel inquiring about a bottle of hot sauce left at front desk for her. Hot sauce nowhere to be seen. Decide woman is crazy.
5. Man comes down from guest room and leaves bottle of hot sauce for lady at front desk. Things now make sense. Decide they are both crazy.
6. Man checked in wearing feathered vintage 1940s hat. Reminded of childhood when I once stole feathers from crisp new mens' hats in department store. Not just one. A whole flock of feathers. Mom and Dad found said feathers in car when we got home. They were not pleased. My alibi: Gem and the Holograms made me do it. Gem wanted the feathers. I cried. I was maybe less than 5 years old. Mom and Dad did not turn me in. That is when my life of crime began.
7. Young children with bright posters lit up Clark street yesterday morning raising money for Haiti. Their spirit gives us hope.
8. Graffiti word of the day: HEAR
Where seen: Wall of red line train written in black in between the red line stops.
Up for interpretation: Listen to what people are actually saying. Really listen. Indulge. Engage.
You might hear something unspoken.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Random Thoughts 1.17.10
Notable:
1. My garden is growing. Newest additions are 2 baby cacti, a mini splash plant, and some pink flower I can't recall the name of. My window sill is beautiful. And on it sits a dangerous cactus.
2. The couple who owns Ben's Noodles now knows me not only by face, but by name. And they know my dish too. When I call and order ginger chicken with extra vegetable, they know that's me. And I do not feel any shame in this.
3. Saw a man wearing a purple plaid shirt and green patterned tie that did not go together whatsoever. This made me smile. Man's clothing combination made no sense, looked completely silly, and yet, I could immediately tell this was the man's chosen style. It made him happy. And so it made me happy.
4. Important lesson learned: meeting a man in a snowstorm does not equal destiny. But it sure does make an interesting story.
5. Spent some time watching "Worst Cooks in America." These are some of the whiniest most emotional cooks I have ever seen in my life. It's a piece of chicken. Pull yourself together. It's gonna be okay.
6. I have a slight obsession with Starbucks Signature Hazelnut Hot Chocolate. It is so comforting in the cold. That's three different types of European chocolate mixed together in one cup of hazelnut goodness. Go.
7. Websites I have found recently that are GREAT:
www.operationbeautiful.com
www.1000awesomethings.com
www.givesmehope.com
8. Engaged in a social experiment at work by wearing Hayli's nametag when I could not find mine. Hayli and I look nothing alike, but people who had talked with me the previous day and remembered my name as Katherine DID NOT recall that I was Katherine. One man even talked ABOUT "Katherine" (me) to "Hayli" (me) saying I never emailed him his confirmation. This floored me. He had spoken with me multiple times, I checked him in, and when he came back to the desk he did not remember that it was me he had spoken to in the first place, he just talked about me behind my back TO me thinking I was someone else just because I was wearing someone else's nametag. This proves that some people do not pay attention at all.
9. The earthquake in Haiti has caused unthinkable hardship and damage. My heart goes out to this nation and makes me reconsider what I have previously believed to hardships in my life. There is no comparison and it puts things into perspective.
1. My garden is growing. Newest additions are 2 baby cacti, a mini splash plant, and some pink flower I can't recall the name of. My window sill is beautiful. And on it sits a dangerous cactus.
2. The couple who owns Ben's Noodles now knows me not only by face, but by name. And they know my dish too. When I call and order ginger chicken with extra vegetable, they know that's me. And I do not feel any shame in this.
3. Saw a man wearing a purple plaid shirt and green patterned tie that did not go together whatsoever. This made me smile. Man's clothing combination made no sense, looked completely silly, and yet, I could immediately tell this was the man's chosen style. It made him happy. And so it made me happy.
4. Important lesson learned: meeting a man in a snowstorm does not equal destiny. But it sure does make an interesting story.
5. Spent some time watching "Worst Cooks in America." These are some of the whiniest most emotional cooks I have ever seen in my life. It's a piece of chicken. Pull yourself together. It's gonna be okay.
6. I have a slight obsession with Starbucks Signature Hazelnut Hot Chocolate. It is so comforting in the cold. That's three different types of European chocolate mixed together in one cup of hazelnut goodness. Go.
7. Websites I have found recently that are GREAT:
www.operationbeautiful.com
www.1000awesomethings.com
www.givesmehope.com
8. Engaged in a social experiment at work by wearing Hayli's nametag when I could not find mine. Hayli and I look nothing alike, but people who had talked with me the previous day and remembered my name as Katherine DID NOT recall that I was Katherine. One man even talked ABOUT "Katherine" (me) to "Hayli" (me) saying I never emailed him his confirmation. This floored me. He had spoken with me multiple times, I checked him in, and when he came back to the desk he did not remember that it was me he had spoken to in the first place, he just talked about me behind my back TO me thinking I was someone else just because I was wearing someone else's nametag. This proves that some people do not pay attention at all.
9. The earthquake in Haiti has caused unthinkable hardship and damage. My heart goes out to this nation and makes me reconsider what I have previously believed to hardships in my life. There is no comparison and it puts things into perspective.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
2AM musings....
1. It is more fun to drink a cocktail when there is an umbrella in it. Especially at Chinese restaurants. With a waiter named Ming. I don't know any waiters named Ming. But I bet there is a Chinese waiter named Ming somewhere and I want him to be my waiter. I feel as though I have just offended a whole slew of Chinese people, as well as waiters, as well as people named Ming. I am sorry. And also not sorry. I still want to meet a Chinese waiter named Ming who will serve me a cocktail with an umbrella in it.
2. The scale in my bathroom is 10 lbs lighter than the scale at the gym. I am not sure which one to believe, and so, I will split the difference and go with a 5 lb discrepancy so as to be fair to both.
3. I still want freckles. Desperately.
4. Saddened no one ever bought me a chia pet this past holiday season, I think I will have to buy one for myself.
5. What does one do when faced with the ultimate brunch question 'sweet or savory?' What if you want sweet AND savory? Why must it be one or the other? Either or? It doesn't have to be! Go halfers with a friend and you're set. And always order a breakfast cocktail when you have the option to do so.
Preferable a bellini.
6. Slowly but surely kicking a caffeine habit is not pretty. The early stages are the worst. Incandescent withdrawal symptoms include but are not limited to: headache, shakes, anger, confusion, brain fog. Alternatively, the feeling of being OFF caffeine is one of intrigue as well. Somewhat peaceful in a way.
7. I wonder about bus drivers and if they're happy. Also UPS delivery men. I have always wondered if the UPS men are happy.
8. I have a favorite spoon. I also have a favorite fork. Is it irrational to have favorite utensils?
9. My right foot is slightly larger than my left foot. This makes me very angry.
10. If you see an ugly baby, do you feel bad for thinking it's ugly or do you feel bad because, damn, that's an ugly baby.
Love to the masses.
K.xxx
2. The scale in my bathroom is 10 lbs lighter than the scale at the gym. I am not sure which one to believe, and so, I will split the difference and go with a 5 lb discrepancy so as to be fair to both.
3. I still want freckles. Desperately.
4. Saddened no one ever bought me a chia pet this past holiday season, I think I will have to buy one for myself.
5. What does one do when faced with the ultimate brunch question 'sweet or savory?' What if you want sweet AND savory? Why must it be one or the other? Either or? It doesn't have to be! Go halfers with a friend and you're set. And always order a breakfast cocktail when you have the option to do so.
Preferable a bellini.
6. Slowly but surely kicking a caffeine habit is not pretty. The early stages are the worst. Incandescent withdrawal symptoms include but are not limited to: headache, shakes, anger, confusion, brain fog. Alternatively, the feeling of being OFF caffeine is one of intrigue as well. Somewhat peaceful in a way.
7. I wonder about bus drivers and if they're happy. Also UPS delivery men. I have always wondered if the UPS men are happy.
8. I have a favorite spoon. I also have a favorite fork. Is it irrational to have favorite utensils?
9. My right foot is slightly larger than my left foot. This makes me very angry.
10. If you see an ugly baby, do you feel bad for thinking it's ugly or do you feel bad because, damn, that's an ugly baby.
Love to the masses.
K.xxx
Monday, January 11, 2010
Joy Chronicles
The past few days have brought me immense joy.
In no particular order......
1. Songwriting with an old friend. It is amazing to hear my music take shape and become a reality. Realizing I finally understand the words I wrote 10 years ago. Hearing contours of my voice and lyrics and the guitar. The feeling I have today is somewhat freeing.
2. Pulling the sheet from my blankets at night time and seeing electricity storms in the dark. Little moonbeams of light dancing at midnight.
3. The cook in the Greek restaurant off the Bryn Mawr stop who always knocks on the window whenever he sees me and waves :)
4. Two men who thought I was only 24 years old today.
5. The singers at the redline stop who asked me to dance and come on the road with them.
6. Sweet daisies in the green vase on my window sill.
7. Running into my friend on the train and making funny sign language to him from across the car, only to have the man in front of my friend think I was signing to him and watching him be extraordinarily confused. Priceless.
8. Seeing Ryan Kazsprzak walk into theWit today for his first cast meeting of Billy Elliot and us recognizing each other as I worked at the front desk and he came through the door. He played my son in a high school play of Our Town and now he is a famous dancer.
9. The fact that a portion of a melody running through my head finally took shape today as I was walking down the street, much like songs used to take shape for me years ago.
10. Just knowing that my character, Midge, in my upcoming show gets to wear 'action shorts' and carry a gun in a thigh holster gives me immense happiness. The ridiculousness of this show is delightful.
11. Listening to people try to pronounce the name of the restaurant, Cibo Matto, on the 2nd floor of the building where I work. I love it when people know they are saying it incorrectly but say it anyway and I love the people who believe they are saying it correctly and are actually pronouncing it completely wrong.
*
I like to see signs in graffiti. I have for awhile now. This wasn't really graffiti, because it was really just the CTA marking their construction. But in the same place where I had received other signs in the past few months such as 'DONE,' for which I had contempt, and 'START,' in which I took refuge, today I saw the simple word 'GOOD.'
Indeed. And simply. And yes.
There is goodness and joy in the simplest of things.
K.xxxx
In no particular order......
1. Songwriting with an old friend. It is amazing to hear my music take shape and become a reality. Realizing I finally understand the words I wrote 10 years ago. Hearing contours of my voice and lyrics and the guitar. The feeling I have today is somewhat freeing.
2. Pulling the sheet from my blankets at night time and seeing electricity storms in the dark. Little moonbeams of light dancing at midnight.
3. The cook in the Greek restaurant off the Bryn Mawr stop who always knocks on the window whenever he sees me and waves :)
4. Two men who thought I was only 24 years old today.
5. The singers at the redline stop who asked me to dance and come on the road with them.
6. Sweet daisies in the green vase on my window sill.
7. Running into my friend on the train and making funny sign language to him from across the car, only to have the man in front of my friend think I was signing to him and watching him be extraordinarily confused. Priceless.
8. Seeing Ryan Kazsprzak walk into theWit today for his first cast meeting of Billy Elliot and us recognizing each other as I worked at the front desk and he came through the door. He played my son in a high school play of Our Town and now he is a famous dancer.
9. The fact that a portion of a melody running through my head finally took shape today as I was walking down the street, much like songs used to take shape for me years ago.
10. Just knowing that my character, Midge, in my upcoming show gets to wear 'action shorts' and carry a gun in a thigh holster gives me immense happiness. The ridiculousness of this show is delightful.
11. Listening to people try to pronounce the name of the restaurant, Cibo Matto, on the 2nd floor of the building where I work. I love it when people know they are saying it incorrectly but say it anyway and I love the people who believe they are saying it correctly and are actually pronouncing it completely wrong.
*
I like to see signs in graffiti. I have for awhile now. This wasn't really graffiti, because it was really just the CTA marking their construction. But in the same place where I had received other signs in the past few months such as 'DONE,' for which I had contempt, and 'START,' in which I took refuge, today I saw the simple word 'GOOD.'
Indeed. And simply. And yes.
There is goodness and joy in the simplest of things.
K.xxxx
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
the broken fence
embers ran free like wildfire
igniting
willow trees that slept sweetly
unaware
though
hot coals
burned
at midnight,
clouds masked the
sun
that was
not
a sunrise
supposed
pool of
fire
emerging at dawn
sharp with reds and hues of passion
you were a
...beautiful mirage...
of
pale
dull
grey
dreams
give
back
the
sight
take
back
your
vision.
kick down
the dying fence
that was
never fixed
mended
fences
splinter
slowly
the fire
extinguished before
they awoke.
igniting
willow trees that slept sweetly
unaware
though
hot coals
burned
at midnight,
clouds masked the
sun
that was
not
a sunrise
supposed
pool of
fire
emerging at dawn
sharp with reds and hues of passion
you were a
...beautiful mirage...
of
pale
dull
grey
dreams
give
back
the
sight
take
back
your
vision.
kick down
the dying fence
that was
never fixed
mended
fences
splinter
slowly
the fire
extinguished before
they awoke.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
SKETCH LIST 1.3.10
The 10 Newest SKETCH Offenders of the New Year
...to celebrate the year '10.
...in no particular order.
1. The dead pigeon I saw on the train tracks on my birthday. It was the same one from last week.
2. The fact that I still have no CHIA PET to my name from any of you slackers!
3. The ridiculously cold lobby at work and the fact that I am expected to work in arctic conditions.
4. The one who'd best hope she never finds herself alone in a room with me.
5. The movie, Funny People, for not being funny at all.
6. The movie, Nine, for having 7 too many dumb women in it.
7. Our landlord, Mohammed, for not giving us a key to our circuit breaker and then yelling at us after we shorted out the circuits.
8. The "happy birthday" never wished.
9. My body's new intolerance for coffee and caffeine. I do not know how to move forward from this crushing blow.
10. The act of writing out 2010. And saying it. Feels weird in my mouth and feels weird on paper. I keep writing '01 instead of '10. This is making my mild dyslexia worse.
...to celebrate the year '10.
...in no particular order.
1. The dead pigeon I saw on the train tracks on my birthday. It was the same one from last week.
2. The fact that I still have no CHIA PET to my name from any of you slackers!
3. The ridiculously cold lobby at work and the fact that I am expected to work in arctic conditions.
4. The one who'd best hope she never finds herself alone in a room with me.
5. The movie, Funny People, for not being funny at all.
6. The movie, Nine, for having 7 too many dumb women in it.
7. Our landlord, Mohammed, for not giving us a key to our circuit breaker and then yelling at us after we shorted out the circuits.
8. The "happy birthday" never wished.
9. My body's new intolerance for coffee and caffeine. I do not know how to move forward from this crushing blow.
10. The act of writing out 2010. And saying it. Feels weird in my mouth and feels weird on paper. I keep writing '01 instead of '10. This is making my mild dyslexia worse.
Ghosts
It is so very hard to see a ghost run down the street to catch a train at 11:40 something on a Saturday night.
You've just gotten off the train yourself, and for some reason, exited the station on the side of the street you never exit from. It is for this mere chance reason that you've only by seconds avoided a street collision with your ghost who is running at full pace to catch the red line north or south or somewhere.
You observe for just a moment, unseen, and when it becomes safe to cross to the side of the street you meant to be on in the first place, you quietly continue your walk home, wondering what would have happened if a collision had occurred and why the ghost was running at all...and to where and to whom.
It is hard to walk the same streets as your ghosts. Especially when it is you the ghosts can't see.
You've just gotten off the train yourself, and for some reason, exited the station on the side of the street you never exit from. It is for this mere chance reason that you've only by seconds avoided a street collision with your ghost who is running at full pace to catch the red line north or south or somewhere.
You observe for just a moment, unseen, and when it becomes safe to cross to the side of the street you meant to be on in the first place, you quietly continue your walk home, wondering what would have happened if a collision had occurred and why the ghost was running at all...and to where and to whom.
It is hard to walk the same streets as your ghosts. Especially when it is you the ghosts can't see.
Friday, January 1, 2010
HEROES
Heroes from the past 24 hours:
1. The boy.
2. Hilary, for making me my "It's my Birthday" name-tag.
3. Betsy, for everything and for the past 19 years of friendship.
4. The same boy for going well out of his way to get my missing phone back to me.
5. The man who tipped me $10 when I thought he hated me.
6. The bus driver who wished everyone a happy new year.
1. The boy.
2. Hilary, for making me my "It's my Birthday" name-tag.
3. Betsy, for everything and for the past 19 years of friendship.
4. The same boy for going well out of his way to get my missing phone back to me.
5. The man who tipped me $10 when I thought he hated me.
6. The bus driver who wished everyone a happy new year.
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